marguerite_26 | FIC: Promises made around a Campfire (Arthur/Merlin) R

Title: Promises made around a Campfire -- On A03
Author:

marguerite_26
Rating: R
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 2700
Content Notes/kinks: Canon AU/ future fic, tattoos, frottage, bonding
Summary: Arthur has accepted to be ritually tattooed in order to prove his goodwill to the druids. Merlin stands by his king.
Author's Notes: This was written as a comment fic for

gilli_ann's prompt in the Someone being naked makes them do it fest. Inspired in part by the beautiful visuals in The Ritual by

amphigoury. Thank you to

nympha_alba for the beta read. ♥! (I tweaked quite a bit post-beta. All mistakes are mine)

It starts on his chest.

Arthur lets out a sharp exhale at the magic searing his skin. He sees Merlin’s whole body shift forward like he wants to leap across the campfire and save Arthur from this pain. Arthur raises his chin to show Merlin and the druids circling them both that he is unafraid.

The wind shifts and smoke from the campfire curls back at him. He has to look away, blinking at the sting in his eyes.

The low murmur of the old woman at Arthur’s side hasn’t stopped since the ritual began.

The magic moves to the inside of his wrists while his skin’s still raw from the first marks. He’s not sure what now appears on his chest and he refuses to look, but the symbol appearing on his wrist is within his peripheral vision. He’s learned in the last day that this symbol means Emrys, that it is key to this ritual, though the explanation for this as the representation of the joining of the druid people and the people of Camelot was vague.

As she finishes the mark on his wrist, someone reaches for the tie of his cloak and Arthur knows what will happen next. Merlin watches, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Arthur pushes his shoulders back, nods and his cloak slips to the grass of the clearing. Goosebumps rise on his skin as the wind grazes his freshly-shaved groin. Arthur meets Merlin’s eyes but Merlin’s expression is now unreadable in the flickering shadows of the fire.

They haven’t had a chance to talk yet, not since Arthur agreed to the ritual and was whisked away to prepare. He hasn’t been able to explain to Merlin why this is important to him, why the druids’ support and respect are key to his success as ruler of these lands. Even this indignity – standing naked and hairless as boy in front of the Elders of the tribe – is worth it to make amends for his father’s crimes.

As the magic of the old woman burns a mark below his navel and downward, he looks to Merlin wondering if he will be judged for lowering himself to be so vulnerable before these people, but he sees no shame in Merlin’s regard.

What he does see there makes his cheeks flush. Merlin’s eyes are intense, fathomless as they stare unblinking. Arthur can see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows and the sheen of sweat across his top lip. He’s acutely aware of their audience and the fact that the slow slide of pain inching downward is thickening his cock as surely as though it were the caress of a beautiful woman. Possibly more so because it’s not. It’s magic, with a pain like the slice of a finely sharpened edge; the kind of cut you can’t even see until the blood pebbles and drips forth. It’s undeniably erotic, though Arthur has never associated pain so immediately with desire. He unclenches his fists and forces himself to relax and feel no embarrassment at the heavy weight now dangling between his thighs.

The line of the mark splits and curves to each side just above his cock, and Arthur breaths a sigh of relief at the reprieve. He’s not sure he’s prepared to handle the feel of such powerful magic directly on his cock without losing the tight grip he holds on his control.

The old woman is quiet and Arthur snaps from his daze at the silence.

Behind him, the deep voice of one of the Elders commands, “Emrys, step forward.”

Arthur looks around, expecting an explanation, but the crowd’s eyes are no longer on him. Emrys. The words means eternal, he was told. Emrys would be the symbol of the undying connection between their peoples, a pact with the magic of the land and Arthur, that they would remain faithful to the spirit of this agreement. Emrys was not a person.

At Merlin suddenly standing before him, Arthur blinks.

“I tried to explain--” Merlin says, his head tilted, pleading.

“As it is foretold,” a voice echoes through the gathering, reverberating off the trees and into the night. “Emrys and the young Pendragon will together bring magic back to the land and Albion will be born.”

Arthur clenches his teeth. “What’s happening?”

“Well, your highness,” Merlin says in a harsh whisper that carries in the quiet but he doesn’t check himself -- he never does. His explanation tumbles out in a blur of words that make less sense than usual. “You decided to ignore me as I tried to pull you away from the meeting to talk to you for two seconds. You went in there, not telling me what you were planning and just... “ Merlin waves his hands, exasperated. “... just promised to bind yourself to the land, to Emrys.”

“Emrys means eternal,” Arthur snaps, his nerves beginning to fray. He’s missing something though. He can see in Merlin’s face that it’s something important. “You told me that yourself when I asked what the word meant. Prosperity for eternity. It seemed like a good choice.”

“Emrys means eternal. Immortal. But it’s also a title.”

A man reaches between them, cutting off their conversation, and Merlin gives Arthur a broken smile as an apology. Then the man pulls the string on Merlin’s cloak and like Arthur’s it falls, pooling at his feet and leaving him bare.

Merlin’s been shaven, too. Arthur doesn’t want to look but it’s impossible to tear his eyes away from the stretch of pale, hairless skin. His mind’s lost in the image of Merlin standing naked in a tent, looking on in horror and fascination as Arthur had while a boy slid a blade expertly along his most vulnerable parts.

“It’s for purity,” Merlin says, and Arthur drags his eyes away, embarrassed at being caught.

“I still don’t understand.” And more than anything that infuriates him.

Merlin steps closer, his hands rising to rest on Arthur’s shoulders. They’re so close now. Merlin fills all Arthur’s vision. The crowd fades into insignificance as Merlin whispers, “I am Emrys.”

“What?”

Before Merlin can reply, the old woman begins again and this time it’s Merlin who hisses, head thrown back in surprise as lines begin to appear on his chest. Arthur is mesmerised by the pattern taking shape as smoothly as from an ink-soaked quill. He forgets momentarily his question, and forgets the frustration building inside him at Merlin stepping in the middle of this important event, just as he steps in the middle of everything in Arthur’s life.

“I wish you’d given me a chance to explain properly,” Merlin grits out, breathless from the pain. “This isn’t how it is supposed to go.”

Merlin’s breath is warm on his cheek, and Arthur ducks his head against the intimacy of it. But there’s no escaping how close they are, how laid bare. When Arthur looks down he realises they’re both hard -- god, they are almost touching. The old woman’s voice rings loud at their side and draws Arthur back to the circle, to where they are now and who they’re in front of.

“What is going on, Merlin?” He makes no effort to hide the anger in his voice.

Merlin’s fingers dig into his shoulders, and his tone’s desperate as he says, “Arthur, you need to tell me if you’re agreeing to this.”

“I’ve already ...” Arthur looks down at himself, at how he’s already permanently marked with his commitment.

“No. You need to tell me that you accept this. Now that you know … about me.” Merlin holds his gaze, his eyes bright. “This will only work if you do.”

Arthur pauses at the question, looks to his wrists and the symbol that he’d misunderstood. “This is you. I’ll be bound to you.”

“Yes,” Merlin says, “I’m sorry but I need to know right now.”

“How could you not tell me?”

“Dammit, Arthur, I tried.” Merlin’s voice cracks over the words and Arthur doesn’t doubt the sincerity of them for an instant. They both need more time, time for explanation and time for understanding. But the chanting is reaching a fever pitch and Arthur sees in Merlin’s eyes that he needs an answer.

“Fine,” Arthur rasps. “Yes, I accept.”

At Arthur’s words, Merlin’s tattoos begin to travel down his arms and Arthur knows the magic’s flowing up Merlin’s forearms to his fingers because Arthur can feel the heat from it in the clutch at his shoulders. Suddenly, it cuts into Arthur’s skin where Merlin’s touching him and he can feel a tattoo begin there, a continuation of Merlin’s, like they are one body.

It sears him. Differently though, this time. It feels... Arthur’s eyes widen, watching Merlin’s mouth form the strange words. And he realises it’s not the old woman’s muttering that is marking him. Merlin’s eyes are gold, foreign as the words pour from his mouth. Arthur can feel the sting of magic -- Merlin’s magic -- scorch between his shoulder blades, twisting some shape Arthur can’t decipher.

Arthur presses his eyes closed and does everything he can to rein in the flood of desire he feels. It’s not that he hasn’t been with men, or even that he hasn’t once or twice indulged in a fantasy featuring Merlin -- it’s the intensity of the emotion he feels that overwhelms him now. Merlin like this, so comfortable with the power flowing from his fingertips, is disorienting. It’s like the whole world has shifted beneath Arthur and he’s left scrambling to keep his feet on the ground. The vertigo makes his stomach flip and if not for the familiarity in the soft look Merlin gives him now that his eyes are normal again, Arthur doesn't know how he’d handle this.

“It is done,” the old woman pronounces. She hobbles to standing, leaning heavily on her cane. “As it was foretold.” Two Elders rush to her side and help her turn away from the gathering. The clearing fills with murmurs as the druids break the circle and begin to disappear into the trees.

It’s Merlin who helps Arthur back into his cloak, tying it off with trembling fingers before covering himself. Arthur stands motionless through it all, part furious and part exhilarated now that the pain’s fading. His skin is hot and tight beneath the rough druid wool.

Merlin says nothing. He must see the stubborn set of Arthur’s jaw that says Arthur’s had enough of being on display because he grabs Arthur’s elbow and directs him to a tent hidden in a thick copse.

As soon as they’re inside, Merlin waves his hand and a lantern bursts to life. Arthur’s about to make a comment about laziness to redirect from his own startled awe when Merlin rounds on him.

“What did you do?” Merlin demands, tugging at his hair in frustration as though he hasn’t just stolen Arthur’s line.

“What do mean? You know more than I do about what happened back there.”

Merlin’s pacing, though there’s only room for three steps, back and forth in the small tent. “That’s my point!”

“Merlin, you are making in less sense than usual.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Very nice. We are bonded now, you know,” Merlin says, shoving playfully at Arthur’s shoulder as though he has every right to manhandle the King of Camelot. “You had no idea what you were getting into tonight. We’re bound now -- to the land, to our peoples, to each other.”

Arthur glares; usually it’s enough to set Merlin back in his place. Merlin only shakes his head like Arthur’s an errant child.

“The messes you get into,” Merlin mutters, quiet enough Arthur can barely hear him. Then his hand slides over Arthur’s hairless chest, breath catching like he hasn’t touched Arthur a thousand times before today. “I can’t believe you let them shave you.”

Arthur shivers as Merlin’s blunt nails drag over his sensitive skin. “I could do without ever having a blade so close to my cock again,” Arthur admits.

Merlin laughs, his eyes small slits as he looks at him fondly. “Agreed.”

“You weren’t forced into this, were you? Were you given a choice...” Arthur asks, “in any of this?”

Merlin ducks, cheeks blooming red. “I chose this a long time ago.” His fingers graze the silver lines left by the Questing Beast so many years ago and then lower until his thumb flicks Arthur’s nipple. His eyes flick up to catch Arthur’s reaction.

Arthur’s swallows, breath coming short. “You’ve been waiting for me?”

Merlin’s face lights as he smiles, head tilted. “Whether you went through this ritual or not, I’d be by your side.”

Arthur studies Merlin’s face, knowing every word of that is true. He is king; he was bound to the land and these people before he was born. He has always accepted his duty, and now, to find that duty shared with Merlin feels very right and new, and yet not so different. Merlin’s hands have slipped beneath Arthur’s cloak and have gripped Arthur’s shoulders like he had during the ritual. His fingers curl and it’s like they are slotting into place.

The tattoo on Arthur’s back flares hot and he sees stars. He pulls Merlin forward and their lips graze. It’s not nearly enough for either of them and they kiss openly, licking and biting as they gasp into each other’s mouths.

Merlin’s hands are everywhere, his fingers dancing over Arthur’s too sensitive skin, excruciating and perfect. The touch brings back the mix of pain and pleasure Arthur felt earlier and he’s aching with want. It’s Arthur who reaches to untie their cloaks, not bothering to break the kiss to tug at Merlin’s sloppy knot. Their feet tangle as the heavy material twists around their ankles. Merlin’s waist is narrow, hip bones sharp handles for Arthur’s calloused thumbs as he begins to memorise every inch of skin.

They tumble onto the bed and the friction is all wrong. It’s too slick and smooth; they catch on angles but not on the coarseness of hair. Arthur has Merlin trapped beneath him. Merlin who’d already devoted his life to Arthur, asking nothing in return. Arthur kisses furiously down his neck, biting at his shoulder as they rock together. Merlin’s a blur of pale skin and black marks that Arthur will take the time to look at properly, later. He presses his body down until they’re slick and warm, skin on skin. Merlin’s hands on Arthur’s arse urge him on until they grind against each other and the slide of their hairless groins picks up a feral rhythm.

Magic crackles around them. Arthur’s skin is alive with it, with Merlin’s magic, as their bodies arch into each other and Arthur cries out, shuddering. Merlin’s grip tightens, holding him through it, rolling his hips in urgent jittery ruts, drawing out Arthur’s pleasure, until Merlin too goes taut.

Arthur buries his nose in the soft, damp hair behind Merlin’s ear and inhales the scent of campfire and fresh sweat. While Merlin’s still gasping, Arthur whispers into his skin.

“I don’t regret this,” he says, and maybe it’s too low for Merlin to hear, but the words spill out like they’re important.

They lay silent for a moment, listening to their own heartbeats and the din of the forest around them. Merlin tugs at his hair until he lifts his head to meet Merlin’s eyes, and Merlin reaches for his hand.

Merlin keeps his gaze on Arthur as he presses his lips to the symbol at Arthur’s wrist. Emrys. Their destinies are now inseparable.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

shiralinh.livejournal.com

I loved this! Thank you for sharing <3

From:

you might be groped

FIC: Promises made around a Campfire (Arthur/Merlin) R

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags